


Mine

by PinkCanary



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Multi, Polyamory, Rey-Centric, jedistormpilot, swpolyamoryweek
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-21
Updated: 2016-04-21
Packaged: 2018-06-03 15:24:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,100
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6615724
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PinkCanary/pseuds/PinkCanary
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Here is an inventory of the things that belong to Rey:</p><p>One set of clothing.</p><p>Her staff.</p><p>One blaster, handed to her by Han Solo -- <i>kriffing Han Solo</i> -- himself.  </p><p>The feeling of Finn’s hand in hers, as she curls up in the hard chair next to his medical cot.  Also, possibly the blanket that one of the medical droids draped over her when she nodded off for a few minutes.  No one has asked for it back, at the very least.</p><p><i>It’s more than enough</i>, she thinks.  More than she’s had before.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mine

**Author's Note:**

> This is for Star Wars Polyamory Week, day four - favorite trope. The major trope I decided to use was Rey + owning things. But also, BECAUSE I AM TRASH FOR ALL THE TROPES, jedistormpilot as roommates, clothes sharing, and bed sharing. :D So just, all the sharing.

Rey can’t help keeping a list, as soon as she arrives at D’Qar. She stores the data -- debts and credits and favours -- in her head, tucked alongside the wiring schematics for a starship fuel pump and the appropriate curses for twenty-seven different alien languages. 

Each useful in their own way. 

It’s been two and a half days since she last ate, and though she’s gone longer than this without food much more often than she wants to think about, she still looks up hungrily when the pilot asks her if she wants dinner.

(She mentally corrects herself. The pilot. Poe Dameron. BB-8’s master. It’s going to take her longer than the few days she’s had to get used to the idea of cataloguing _people_ in her head with real names. The idea that they might be permanent enough to warrant learning and remembering their names is still new to her.) 

She looks down at herself -- still dressed in her tunic and arm coverings from Jakku, belt and pouch, and well-worn boots scavenged from a locker in a Star Destroyer -- and shrugs. “I have nothing to trade for food,” she states simply, because it’s the honest truth. “I know my way around an engine, though. I’m sure I can be useful to someone.”

Poe’s expression is unreadable and the silence between them stretches on to the point where Rey starts to feel uncomfortable. Like the pilot -- _Poe_ \-- is evaluating her and he isn’t quite sure that he likes what he sees.

“You helped save countless lives today,” he finally says, at length. “I’m sure that’s worth at least a few meals.”

And that, at least, Rey can understand. 

(Still, she tries to do the calculations in her head. Tries to evaluate just how many meals her service must be worth at this point. Catalogues her debts.)

*

Here is an inventory of the things that belong to Rey:

One set of clothing.

Her staff.

One blaster, handed to her by Han Solo -- _kriffing Han Solo_ \-- himself. 

The feeling of Finn’s hand in hers, as she curls up in the hard chair next to his medical cot. Also, possibly the blanket that one of the medical droids draped over her when she nodded off for a few minutes. No one has asked for it back, at the very least.

 _It’s more than enough_ , she thinks. More than she’s had before.

*

A year earlier, she became sick -- nearly delirious with a fever that went on for days. She shivered and sweated in her AT-AT until she finally ran out of water and had to venture into the outpost, shaky and weak. 

Her beloved flight simulator got her sixteen portions. Enough to recover her strength until she could once again venture into the Imperial graveyards. That flight simulator saved her life, and she didn’t mourn it’s loss.

Impermanence is simply a fact of life.

*

“It never really belonged to me,” Luke says, and Rey entirely understands.

He’s holding the lightsaber in his hand -- the metal one -- and staring at it with sad eyes. “It was my father’s,” he adds, voice quiet and absent.

They’re actually in the Jedi temple. Or what is left of it, anyway. The stone walls are crumbling all around them, providing a nebulous protection from the outside elements. Luke seems to live here, of all places. A narrow bunk in one corner, a small shelf of books nearby. A kind of kitchen fashioned near the center, with a small cooking fire and a basin of clean water. 

It’s stark, to put it mildly.

(But then again, Rey spent most of her life living in a gutted AT-AT, so really she shouldn’t be the one to judge.)

He’s turning the lightsaber over and over in his hands, and the wind is howling outside the walls, and Rey is starting to wonder if he’s forgotten that she’s there when he finally speaks again.

“This is the lightsaber that I used when I first started training. It’s probably fitting that you should start with this one, as well.”

He finally looks up, meets Rey’s eyes. She can feel the anticipation in her chest, pounding and threatening to overwhelm. 

“Really?” she asks. “You’re going to train me?”

He smiles and he suddenly looks younger. Kind. “You’re going to need to be trained,” he reasons.

He reaches out, decidedly, and Rey takes the lightsaber from him. It feels heavy in her palm. 

And maybe it doesn’t belong to her, but it didn’t belong to _him_ either, and somehow that all feels right.

*

Finn walks with a cane when he shows her the new base but, if anything, it only adds to his enthusiasm.

“They told me I should still be in a bed in the med-center, but that my progress has been much faster than expected,” he tells her, in between excited tales about the base relocation, and asking her about her training with Skywalker. “I wasn’t going to stay in bed while everyone else was off doing big important things.”

His delight in his new home is palpable, especially when he waves to every person that he passes in the hallways, chatters on about the mess hall for nearly ten minutes, and takes her into the med-center specifically, so that she can meet the personnel who have been helping him with his physical therapy. 

But, all of that pales to his raw excitement once they get to one non-descript door. “Here it is,” he says, stroking one hand over the door’s keypad almost reverently. 

“What?” Rey asks, unable to imagine what could be behind that door that was so exciting.

“It’s ours,” he answers, smile spreading even wider.

 _”Ours,”_ Rey repeats, her voice barely louder than an exhale, and she suddenly gets it.

The room is small. Enough space for one set of bunk beds, and a single larger bed on the opposite wall. They each have a small locker to keep their personal items, and their own fresher attached to the room.

“The room assignment officer actually _apologized_ for the fact that we’d have to share a room,” Finn says in amazement. “We were thirty to a room in the barracks on Starkiller Base,” he adds, shaking his head in wonder.

Rey doesn’t bother telling him about her AT-AT; he wouldn’t understand. Wouldn’t understand the marvel of having her own place to live that was all _hers_. Even if it was cramped and dark and hotter than the suns on many planets at high noon. 

Instead, she just nods along with him. Returns his eager grin, and exclaims as he points out all the features of the room.

“I couldn’t climb up to the top bunk when I first got out of medical, so I took the lower one. We can switch if you want. That’s Poe’s bed.” He points at the single bed on the other side of the room.

 _Wait._

“Poe is,” Rey starts, before trailing off to think for a moment. “We’re sharing with Poe?”

“Yeah,” Finn answers, as if the answer should be obvious. “He pulled some strings for us. Got us all roomed together.” He’s beaming, as if it’s the most marvelous thing in the universe.

Rey is silent for a long moment, and her gaze sweeps across the room. Now that she really looks, she notices BB-8’s charging dock in one corner and an orange flight suit tossed over the end of the bed. 

All of a sudden, Finn seems to catch on to her unease. “This is okay, right? Poe helped me a lot, after I woke up. But if you don’t want to share--”

“It’s fine,” Rey interjects. And maybe it is. But also, she can’t bear to face the alternative of leaving this space -- _theirs_ \-- and going somewhere else. “This is perfect,” she adds, and the smile is suddenly back on Finn’s face full-force.

“It’s completely perfect,” he says, before launching into another explanation -- this time on just how the ‘fresher works, and how the shower has real water that goes from icy cold to _scalding hot_ on a hair trigger -- and maybe it will be just fine.

*

Learning to _share_ is a new thing for Rey.

Finn sleeps perfectly still and silent, but Poe tosses and turns and sometimes snores, especially when he’s exhausted. In the morning, Poe grunts as he drags himself out of bed, and then hogs the ‘fresher for forty-five minutes, before finally emerging with perfectly-tousled hair. 

Poe has his own side of the room, but she and Finn more or less have to share all their space. Which takes some adjusting, especially given Finn’s militarily precise organization and cleanliness, and Rey’s own natural tendency to store her things in a pile in the corner like a rodent stocking its nest. 

(And really, why does it matter where Rey leaves her boots in the evening? They’ll be picked up when she puts them on the next morning, so what are they really hurting if she leaves them in the middle of the floor? _Kriffing hell._ )

All three of them have nightmares.

But then there are the mornings when Poe grins up at her sleepily from his own bed on the other side of the room, and Finn appears from _somewhere_ with three mugs of caf (Rey’s prepared just how she likes it, with really more sugar and milk than anything else, but it tastes amazing that way and disgusting any other), and the small room is warm and cozy and dimly-lit, and it just feels like _home_.

And really, it is perfect.

*

“Is that my shirt?” Poe asks, eyeing Finn as he gets ready one morning.

Finn looks down at his own chest and shrugs. “Maybe? I’m pretty sure you were wearing one of mine yesterday. We’re almost the same height.”

Poe frowns teasingly. “Yeah, but you’re going to stretch out the arms in all my shirts if you keep training the way you’ve been.”

This exchange is still fresh in Rey’s mind when she asks a few days later, “Hey, do either of you have a warmer pair of socks? My feet have been _freezing_.”

It still feels wrong.

And yet, her suspicions about Poe’s feelings on communal property are confirmed when Poe doesn’t even comment, just digs through his drawer until he finds a warm pair of woolen socks and tosses them to her. 

“They’re probably a bit big on you,” he says, and then goes back to whatever he was doing on the datapad before she asked.

The socks go almost up to her knees and she has to roll the tops a few times to keep them from sliding back down. They’re _perfect_. 

“Is that my shirt you’re wearing?” Finn asks her, as he gets ready for bed later that day and _yeah_ , it definitely is.

*

Here is an inventory of the things that belong to Rey:

One third of a shared quarters, complete with bed and bedding.

One extra blanket that the medical droids never asked to be returned.

Her staff, her blaster, and a lightsaber made by Anakin Skywalker. 

Three lockers of clothing, although Finn and Poe would probably dispute that fact, but neither of them too vehemently. And maybe that’s the important part.

*

There’s another side to _sharing_ as well.

Poe wakes up shivering and sweating and sometimes screaming more days than not, and watching Finn slip across the narrow gap between their two beds to slide under Poe’s blankets becomes the most normal thing in the world. It’s clearly something that they negotiated before she came back to the base, and it seems to help them both.

This is not something that Rey has ever experienced, as far as she can remember. The sensation of wrapping yourself around another person -- or being held close in another person’s arms -- as your breathing slows and you drop off to sleep. It’s not something that she knows, but she can see the appeal, and she can’t deny the twinge of _something_ in her chest each time she wakes to see Poe and Finn entwined together. 

She’s awake the next time it happens. The next time that Poe starts shaking and moaning in his sleep, and she is out of her bed and hopping down from the top bunk before she even realizes what she’s doing. 

Poe’s body is warm -- overly warm -- under his thick woolen blankets, and she burrows in closer to him out of pure instinct. He startles at the first contact, but he almost instantly relaxes, wrapping his arms around her, before _freezing_.

“Rey?” he murmurs, his breath warm on her face. He brings one hand up to cup her cheek, and his eyes are warm and questioning. 

This isn’t something she’s ever done, but she can’t deny that she’s wanted to feel this -- the warm comfort of another body against hers -- for longer than she even realizes. Probably _forever_. And so she nods, and tucks her head under Poe’s chin.

It’s easier than she would have imagined, to fall asleep like this. Poe is snoring again a few minutes later and his chest rises and falls gently against her cheek. She tucks her feet against his calves, closes her eyes, and allows herself to drift off.

*

Rey has no idea how to catalogue _that_.

Or the look that Finn sends them the next morning

*

It shouldn’t surprise Rey how easily the three of them settle into _something_. 

She and Finn are still really just learning how to _be people who know how to be around people_ , and maybe that’s part of what makes it work. The fact that they have each other to ask questions, and try to sort it all out together. And maybe neither of them would even be offended if Poe found them just a little bit ridiculous. Like when they make it their mission to try and rank every single dessert served in the mess, or when Rey grabs Poe’s helmet in the middle of a conversation and pulls it on without comment, only to grin manically at him. Or the way that Finn has to sometimes consciously stop himself in the middle of a sentence, when he’s about to remind them about the rules. 

But the best part is that Poe never _does_ find them ridiculous, and even makes a point of indulging them whenever possible.

They curl up on Poe’s bed for holovid marathons (“Nothing scary,” Finn insists. “And nothing sad,” Rey adds, and BB-8 scours the database for vids that meet their criteria.) with snacks and the sugary sodas that Poe likes to drink, and more often than not Poe falls asleep before the first vid is over, snoring lightly in one of their ears. Sometimes he’ll come back from missions with gifts for them -- unique foods, or interesting vegetation, and once a bright pink scarf that Finn wrapped around his neck, grinning widely -- and loads datapads with books and music that he thinks they’ll like. “There’s a whole galaxy out there that the two of you need to experience,” he insists, when they protest that it’s all too much.

It’s feels like something that Rey _owns_.

*

Something else that belongs to Rey:

The way that Finn sometimes looks at her, like she hung the moon, and maybe even all of the stars in the galaxy, as well. Like he’s waiting for _something_ and he doesn’t really know what exactly he is is waiting for.

He looks at Poe exactly the same way, and that does not belong to Rey, but she feels like maybe it _could_.

*

It’s easy enough, though, to press her lips against Finn’s one day, when the three of them are curled up in Poe’s bed, watching yet another holovid. Finn is shocked, motionless, for a long moment, but Rey knows him well enough to keep going. And sure enough, his lips eventually become pliant and welcoming beneath hers, and when he opens her mouth he tastes like popcorn and Poe’s sugary grape soda. 

(Also, he groans under her lips, almost a needy whimper, and _that_ is the best, as well.)

When she finally pulls away, she turns, and there is Poe at her other side, looking simultaneously mesmerized, but also with eyes that are sad and resigned.

And really, she can’t let _that_ go on for any longer than necessary.

“Do you want to go first, or should I?” she asks Finn. And he still looks dazed and not quite sure that this is all really happening, so she clarifies it for him by pressing her face against Poe’s. 

“Do you want this?” she asks, because she’s pretty sure, but she sometimes doubts her ability to read him like she can read Finn -- their connection has always been immediate. And she _feels_ for Poe, but it’s taken some time, as she watched the way that he cares for Finn and the way that he cares for her, even when it was only by extension, when he only knew her as “Finn’s Rey”.

But his voice is hoarse and desperate and wanting when he breathes out the word “yes,” against her lips, and so _yes_. His kiss is different from Finn’s; more sure and confident, but with the same heat and affection.

And it really is the best thing that she could ever imagine.

(Especially when Finn claims Poe’s lips a few seconds later, the three of them tangled in Poe’s bunk.)

*

Here is an inventory of the things that belong to Rey:

One shared room with a single bed pushed up against the bunk bed.

The middle spot, on days when she needs it, and one of the edges on days that she doesn’t. Quite often all of the blankets. Sometimes not even on purpose.

Her staff, her blaster, a lightsaber made by Anakin Skywalker, and sometimes BB-8, when he decides that it’s her day to be followed around the base like a doting puppy. 

A mission, a purpose. A home and a family. 

Finn and Poe, although she’s well-aware that people belong to themselves, but she can’t stop the fierce, protective sense of _mine_ that overcomes her sometimes, when they’re curled together in bed at night, or when one of them comes back from a mission and back into her arms. She knows that the other two feel the same about her, and so she doesn’t bother to temper her protective streak. Her urge to collect the things that she likes and keep them safe and secure and _hers_ , despite the knowledge that everything is impermanent that she can’t quite shake from her psyche. 

( _It’s more than enough_ , she thinks.)

**Author's Note:**

> I'm jedistormpilot trash [on Tumblr](http://sarahrunsfromzombies.tumblr.com).


End file.
